


Newcomers

by Ghelik



Series: The 100 Fics [32]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Season/Series 04, after epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-06 02:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11026935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: Clarke meets the crew of the spaceship.





	1. Chapter 1

Clarke hides in the bushes, observing.

 

The ship’s doors have opened with a loud hydraulic hiss and out have stepped a dozen men and seven women in dark overalls. They’ve set four lookouts while the rest unload the spacecraft, placing considerable crates in a perimeter of over a hundred feet around their ship. They work silent and efficiently, supervised by a young man in clearer overalls with three golden stripes sewn on his shoulders.

 

Clarke’s heart hammers against her ribs in a nervous tat-to she hasn’t felt in over three years. She recognizes it: it’s the same way her heart raced when she first set foot on Earth when she found out about the Grounders when she woke up in Mount Weather when she found Madi. It’s excitement.

 

In a world where pretty much everything is dead, it’s difficult to be excited about much. The last time Clarke was this excited was when she found Madi. Clarke doesn’t know what she would have done without her.

 

The girl is probably the only reason why Clarke hasn’t gone up to these strangers, the risks be damned. She can’t be reckless anymore. Not when she has to make sure Madi isn’t left all alone again.

 

So she stays were she is, watching, studying… Just like the Grounders did when she and the delinquents came down all those years ago.

 

The man in charge calls two of the women unloading the ship over to where he stands in the dimly lit entrance of the ship. He speaks for a moment, and they disappear inside, only to come out a few minutes later dressed in tactical gear, camouflage helmets, automatic guns strapped to their backs. Clarke freezes as she sees them walk past their perimeter and towards the patch of trees where Madi is hiding with the rover.

  
And they could just pass the cave without noticing – god knows the delinquents were pretty oblivious when they first got to the ground – but… They might not.

 

Clarke feels cold sweat beading on her hairline, her heart is at her throat, and her mind seems unable to form a coherent thought, settling instead to uselessly repeat ‘ _Madi, Madi, Madi_ ,’ over and over again.

 

This is the first time since she found her beautiful natblida that their lives have been at risk. Yes living on a desolate planet with only limited supplies and way too many rubble heaps is dangerous, and yes there was _that_ time with the panther and the crazy flesh-eating birds. But Madi shot the panther – got a beautiful new cloak from its skin for her bravery- and the birds were not that difficult to dissuade – and after a while, they managed to capture a few, and now they have a crazy flesh-eating flock of what she’s calling hens.

 

But these strangers have guns, and they’re new here, and she has no clue what their intentions are. Do they know there are people on the ground? Do they care? What have they come for? Are they here to stay? Where have they been for the last two Apocalypses?

 

Her hands shake so much she wouldn’t be able to make a kill shot, even if she tried. And Madi’s alone in the cave and probably freaked out because Clarke hasn’t gone back yet.

 

She licks her lips. She understands Bellamy now: the primal fear that nags at her whenever Madi’s out of site is something she’s learned to live with over the last few years. But now it has reared its ugly head, and this is not just the possibility that her girl could be attacked by some feral beast or that she could fall into a hole and brake something. This is the possibility that _people_ with guns decide she’s a hostile and slaughter her like… Like the mountain did. Like Clarke, herself has done.

 

Her heart decides before her mind has had time to talk it out of it. She stands up, slinging her rifle at her back, forces a non-threatening smile on her lips and waves her arms.

 

“Hey!” Clarke calls stepping purposefully closer to the ship.

 

The reaction is immediate: the two women in tactical gear return to the perimeter at a run and join the other four guards, pointing their weapons at her. There’s shouting, and a general commotion as the other thirteen run around picking up random weapons like axes and the crowbars they’ve been using to open the crates. The man in clearer overalls and golden stripes steps closer. He’s young, like the rest of his Kru – not as young as the delinquents were -, and much like them wears his hair closely cropped and walks with long strides.

 

“It’s so good seeing new people!” Clarke calls, feigning cheerfulness when the only thing she wants is to do is puke her guts out. The strangers mutter among themselves, but she’s too far away to make much sense of what they’re saying.

 

She walks closer, slowly, her hands still raised over her head, palms open.

 

“She’s carrying a rifle!” shouts one of the lookouts, a man with a crooked nose and round cheeks. They all look pretty well fed for space-people.

 

“Appears to be alone!” informs another with a protruding jaw.

 

“That’s close enough!” decides Golden Stripes. Clarke stops, trying to keep her smile on her face. It feels weird, smiling at total strangers.

 

The fact that they _are_ strangers feels weird. For most of her life she’s not been around strangers: on the Ark, you sort of new everyone, maybe not by name, but their faces were familiar. Then she came to earth, and for a while, there were _new people_. But after the second Praimfaya, the only other person on the planet seems to be Madi. So, Clarke forgot the feeling. It’s weird; she hasn’t decided if it’s good weird or bad weird yet.

 

“Who are you?”

 

 _I should be the one asking questions_ , whispers a voice in her brain. _You’re on my territory._

 

Clarke feels herself arching an eyebrow in their direction. “That is an excellent question. I’d like to know who _you_ are myself.”

 

Golden Stripes barks a laugh, looking around at his people. “I am Sergeant Zeke Shaw of the Eligius Corporation; I am in command of the Gagarin transport station.” He makes a gesture with his broad hand in Clarke’s direction.

 

“Can I put my hands down now?”

 

“I don’t think so, no,” says Sergeant Zeke Shaw.

 

Clarke snorts, resting her forearms on the crown of her head. No one shoots or barks at her to put them higher, so she guesses it’s okay. “I am Clarke Griffin kom Skaikru” she raises her chin and, just to be petty, decides to enumerate her own titles: “Ambassador of Skaikru, Mountain Slayer, Wanheda.”

 

 _Nice one, Princess_ , whispers mockingly that tiny voice in her head that sounds just like Bellamy. _Not sure they’ll understand half of that._

_‘It’s the intention that matters’_ she thinks brusquely at him. ‘ _Shut up._ ’

“That’s quite a mouthful” the Sergeant crosses his arms across his impressively broad chest.

Now that she’s closer, she can see their clothes are mended and threadbare; the color of the overalls might have been dark blue at some point, but now it’s a murky gray. A handful has tied the top half of them around their waist revealing yellowish tank-tops that might have been white once. Their skins are sort of greyish; just like the arekers’ skins were after a lifetime without sunshine; their hair listless and dull. Is this how Bellamy and Raven and the rest will look _when_ they make it back to her?

Their skins are unmarked by kill-scars or tattoos; not a clan mark on them except for the small nametags sewn to the front pocket of their overalls and… are those dog tags around their necks? She hasn’t seen those outside of vids, and she never was very interested in action vids, so Clarke isn’t sure.

 

“I guess you have come to talk, _Ambassador of Skaikru_?” The mocking tone in his voice isn’t lost on her, but she bites her tongue and nods her head. She needs information, and they seem willing to talk.

 

‘ _It could be a trap_ ’ Bellamy points out unhelpfully in her brain.

 

 _‘I know that._ ’

 

‘ _I am not here covering your back_ , _Princess._ ’

 

‘ _And whose fault is that? Now quit pointing out the obvious and help me get the information out of these space-dudes._ ’ Bellamy’s voice sulks angrily in the back of her brain.

 

“You mind if we take your gun?”, asks Zeke Shaw.

 

“I am outnumbered.” Yes, she minds very much.

 

“You could have backup up there” he points at the pitiful patch of trees that passes for a forest these days. If they only knew!

  
Clarke shifts her shoulders, feeling her handgun safely tucked away beneath her jacket. And slowly, very slowly, goes to unsling her rifle from her shoulder.

 

Zeke Shaw comes closer and takes it, studying it with a small frown: taking in the duck taped parts that don’t belong to this rifle, but that are substituting pieces that broke off. He runs his fingers over the names Clarke has carved all over the wooden handguard, strap, and buttstock. The blond feels the hair at the back of her neck standing on end. Other than her and Madi, no one has touched her rifle. No one has seen those names or…

 

“Quite a collection you have” the man comments, looking at her through his long lashes. “What are these?”

 

She forces a smile on her lips but says nothing. Let him think whatever he wants.

 

They measure each other for a moment and then the Sergeant tips his head in her direction, and one of the women steps forward.

 

Her skin is golden. Or will probably turn golden as soon as she’s had a bit of sun.

 

The woman’s hands land on her shoulders and Clarke doesn’t notice she’s moved until she’s kneeling on the woman’s back, her knee on her lower back and her arm twisted in Clarke’s hands.

 

It takes her a moment to notice the screams and a little bit more to recognize they’re shouting at her, all the weapons aimed at her head.

 

Clarke lets go of the woman, stumbling back.

 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” she tries clearing her throat. The woman hurries back; she’s bleeding from the nose where Clarke must have hit her. No one lowers their guns.

 

The Sergeant clicks his tongue, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Now, now, I thought we were all friends here.”

 

There’s something dangerous in his voice, and every instinct in Clarke’s body is telling her to run: dive back into the forest; take the rover and run as far as she possibly can. Then again… this is the only habitable place on the ground. And it’s her home.

 

“She grabbed me” her voice comes – thankfully – a lot stronger than she’s feeling right now.

 

“To see if you’re armed. We can’t have a possibly hostile come armed into our camp now, can we?”

 

“If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done so already.”

 

“You seem pretty sure of that.”

 

“I have a lot of experience.” She looks around, trying to get her confidence back. What’s wrong with her? She’s dealt with more dangerous and powerful people than this guy before.

 

“So do we.”

 

Clarke arches an eyebrow at him.

 

“Ok,” decides the man giving her rifle to one of the weaponless men. “This is starting to become ridiculous.” And to his Kru, he barks. “Ease up, boys and girls! Let’s talk like civilized people.” He nods towards his ship. “Come on.”

 

Clarke is intensely aware of the eyes following her as she steps into their perimeter and follows the Sergeant up through the ramp and into the dark ship.

 

It hits her like a ton of bricks, how similar it looks to the ark. How familiar the metallic floors, the white fluorescent lights, the octagonal corridors, the hum of machinery and the thickness of recycled air are.

 

She’s guided through a small corridor flanked by closed doors, past a control station with monitors set up showing different parts of their ship: what looks like a mess, the cargo hold, a group of occupied cells; and into a conference room fitted with a wide metallic desk bolted to the floor, surrounded by a dozen stainless steel chairs.

Zeke Shaw points at a chair across from him and waits until Clarke has seated herself before settling down.

 

“So. Let's talk.”

 

There’s a camera up in the corner and probably someone watching on the other side.

 

She feels a pang of shame because this is how their first interaction with Lincoln and the rest of the grounders should have gone: diplomatically, both parties sitting down at a table to discuss their situation.

 

Instead, she and Bellamy strung Lincoln to the wall and tortured him. All for nothing because they weren’t able to prevent the war and it was Octavia who ended up getting through to him. Saving Finn.

 

Clarke pushes those memories back. There’s no use in thinking about that.

 

“Why have you come? Where have you come from?”

 

“We come from the Mars mining colonies. The Eligius Corp is financing the Re-Population program. We are the advance party, here to find the best inhabitable terrain and prepare for the civilians.”

 

Clarke frowns at that. “I don’t understand. What mining colonies?”

 

The Sergeant chuckles lowly, his eyes roving over her. “No, I guess you wouldn’t understand. A hundred years ago, well, a little over a hundred years ago, there was this Great War. There were tech and greedy people and they… Killed the world. That’s why everything is dead outside.”

 

‘ _Is this dude for real?_ ’ grumbles Bellamy, still cross in the back of her mind.

 

‘ _Play it smart, Griffin_ ’ she tells herself.

 

“You mean Praimfaya.” Obviously, the man doesn’t understand the concept. “The Great Fire.”

 

“Yes, I guess you would call it that. Anyway before the end of the world, before primfaia, there were problems. The earth was sick and wasn’t producing enough to sustain all the population. We needed fuel and… other things. They could be found on Mars…” he trails off looking skeptically at her and now Clarke understands why Lincoln didn’t talk at first.

 

Better have them think you’re a crude barbarian, better have your enemies think you’re stupid and underestimate you. That way they won’t expect much from you. They’ll get comfortable on their high horse and sloppy.

 

“You have no clue what I am talking about.” He decides after a moment and rubs his hands over his face. “Fuck” he sighs dragging the F. “Ok. So… You know the earth is like a planet, yeah?”

 

In her mind, Bellamy gapes at the man, completely at a loss for words. She remembers his righteous indignation when she assumed he didn’t know who Oppenheimer was. Clarke makes a noncommittal movement with her head.

 

Let him underestimate you. Think you’re crude and stupid.

 

“Well… Mars is… Another planet. Up, past the sky.” He points at the roof and just to be contrary Clarke looks up, like she could see the sky from here.

 

“Does this make sense to you?”

 

“So it’s like a star?” she offers because she is skaikru. Not these people.

 

“Yes! A star. But, it doesn’t glow in the night. A dark star. Does that make sense?”

 

Clarke hums again. “So you were from the ground and then left to the star Mars, and now you want to come back?”

 

Zeke Shaw nods his head. “Exactly.”

 

“Why?”

 

The Sergeant splutters. “What do you mean why? Earth is our home.”

 

“Shouldn’t it be Mars? You’ve been gone since before Praimfaya, why come back?”

 

“It was never supposed to be permanent.”

 

She can understand that. The Ark wasn’t supposed to be permanent either.

 

“How many?”

 

“Beg pardon?”

 

“How many Marskru are coming?”

 

He chuckles again at the name, but Clarke is not having another kru become _skaikru_. That’s her _kru tagon_. “I don’t get that kind of intel. Maybe a few million?”

 

Clarke gapes at him. “Yeah, it’s a big number. How many people are in your clan?”

 

Twelve hundred and nine. Against a few million. On a planet with only a small inhabitable patch of trees.

 

“How long until they come down here?” asks Clarke and even she can hear the slight note of distress in her voice. She can only hope he doesn’t.

 

“Well, it depends on so many variables.” He doesn’t say _you wouldn’t understand,_ but it’s implied.

 

“Are they on their way now? On ships like this one?”

 

He narrows his eyes at her. “Some are, yeah.” The Sergeant licks his lips. “Now it’s the moment where this becomes a trade. You do understand trade, yes?”

 

“It’s not a foreign concept to me, no.”

 

Again, he chuckles. “So. You have information on this land. What is and what isn’t poisonous. That sort of things.”

 

“I can offer some information on plants.”

 

“Cool. What sort of crops does your clan grow? Or…” he looks her up and down, taking her in with narrowed eyes. “Does your clan grow anything?”

 

“We have hens. And… We grow algae.” Clarke isn’t sure what the people in the bunker grow, but on the Ark, Bellamy and the rest are growing algae, and _they_ are her kru, so it’s technically accurate.

 

The man furrows his nose. “Algae? First time I hear of that. What else? I guess you… hunt?”

 

“Yes, we do hunt. We’re waiting for the reproductive season; there are not many animals. You should be careful when you hunt.”

 

He nods, humming lowly. “Ok. Yes, that’s… That’s good information. What else can you tell me? You said you are ambassador to skaikru? Does that mean there are other clans? Are they hostile?”

 

“They’re not hostile. We have a mighty coalition.”

 

“To whom do they answer?”

 

‘ _I don’t know because the bunker won’t answer me._ ’

 

“They answer to Octavia Blake kom Skaikru, Skairipa, Heda kom Oso Kru-de.”

 

“Lucky us, having met the ambassador of the leader-chick of all the tribes. Does everyone speak English? Or do they speak the other…” he makes a vague gesture in Clarke’s general direction “…thing?”

 

“English is the language of the warriors.” She smirks. “There are many warriors.” _Or at least there used to be._ “The other thing is trigedasleng. All kru speak trig.”

 

“Nice. We’ll need an…”

 

They’re interrupted by a bout of shouting and feet running. The door slams open and a square-jawed woman steps in. “Sir.”

 

“Not now, Sedgwick.”

 

“It’s… The girl she’s vanished again.”

 

He curses, standing brusquely up. “Have you checked the vents?”

 

“We’re going to flush her out with some KOG.”

 

The Sergeant nods. “Sorry about that. We have some rebels in custody right now. They’re proving more troublesome than they’re worth. Do you mind if we continue our little chat at a future date?”

 

“It’s agreeable.”

 

She follows Sergeant Zeke Shaw out of the conference room. She catches a movement out of the corner of her eye. When she turns, she finds herself staring at the row of monitors in their control center. Most of the screens show people in overalls running around long corridors. But there are a few on the bottom corner showing what must be the holding area. Six prisoners.

 

She would recognize those shoulder anywhere.

 

“You never saw a screen before?” asks Zeke Shaw. Clarke can’t answer, her tongue tied in knots. He’s grinning when he puts a hand on her lower back. “Come, I’ll show you.”

 

If she were capable of forming a coherent thought, she would probably think that this guy is way too trusting. But her brain is completely shut down.

 

Now that she’s closer she can see their faces: there’s Emori with her massive tattoo on her face; Murphy, calmly lying on his back, tossing a small ball in the air; Echo, pacing up and down the small space; Monty biting his nails – when did he start doing _that -_ ; Raven, twirling a screwdriver in frustration; and Bellamy, staring angrily at the camera. He looks just like he did six years ago.

 

Clarke is only dimly aware of the Sergeant explaining to her how cameras and screens work, but she can’t tear her eyes away from Bellamy’s face.

 

“We have to get going.” He pulls her away. “I’ll show more tech next time, if you like?”

 

Her eyes dart around the room. She needs a chart of the ship, needs to locate the cells and how to open them, because there’s no way in hell she’s leaving Bellamy and the rest in there. “I would love that.”

 

When she steps out of the ship, the sun is setting. Her hands shake when the Sergeant hands her the rifle back. He’s smiling down at her by the perimeter. “If you could be our guide through the territory, maybe show us your village. We need to chart the ground.”

 

Clarke nods her head. “I’ll be back tomorrow?” she offers, and even she hears how small her voice is. She hopes he’ll just attribute it to being overwhelmed by the tech.

 

“Perfect. I am looking forward to it.”

 

She walks away from the ship and when she’s sure no one’s following her, makes her way back to Madi. She needs to think, to plan, and to act quickly before they decide to kill them off.

 

Why haven’t they? Where did they pick them up? Why did they capture them in the first place? And _what_ do these strangers know of the ground? Have they interrogated them? Have they talked? Is the Sergeant messing with her? Does he know about her? Does he know that she’s the only one out here?

 

Clarke doesn’t sleep that night, and by dawn, she’s itchy with nerves and restless.

 

This is the first time in six years she doesn’t radio the Ark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a terrible and awful week and 15 pages on this thing were already written, and then I scratched them all out and this came out instead. 
> 
> For those of you waiting on an update of "the Road Home", I'll see if I manage to write something tomorrow. But probably there won't be any updates this week. Sorry.

On the Ark there was always very limited space, so everyone learned the importance of neatness at a very early age. Clarke likes having everything neatly organized, even her memories.

 

For a time after her father got floated Clarke organized her life in “before” and “after”. _Before_ she had loved playing chess and goofing around with Glass. _After_ her already limited space had been reduced to the four walls of the isolation cell and the handful of pencils.

 

Then she was sent to the ground and along came another slot in which she could organize her life. Now there were three: Before her dad got floated, after her dad got floated and stepping out of the Dropship for the first time.

 

During the few relatively peaceful months she had with her delinquents those three were the mayor ‘slots’ she could use to understand her reality. Then the battle of the Dropship happened and a new slot made itself apparent.

 

“Mount Weather” is a part of her life she doesn’t like to talk about. Of course she’s told Madi about it. She’s told her of the Mountain whenever she retells the Epic of Skaikru. When Madi was younger she would talk about the dangerous Mountain Men that took naughty girls that didn’t finish their veggies.

 

Clarke has turned them into a myth, a monster to make Madi squeal and frown her lips and boldly proclaim she’s not afraid even when she clings to Clarke’s hand. And maybe it’s a disservice to those that did die in the Mountain. Maybe she’s trivializing a great foe that had grounders scared – genuinely scared – for generations.

 

But she’s scared of them, too, and this is the only way she’s able to think about them. Clarke has told Madi a watered down version of what happened in that horrible little slot labeled “Mound Weather”; mainly because she wants Madi to know the history of this land and of her people and the Mountain _is_ part of that history. So she made them monsters in a myth for the great hero to slaughter.

 

Bellamy will be proud. At least Clarke hopes he will.

 

The last slot is Praimfaya: time before Praimfaya where she was plagued by horrible decisions and death all around. Time after Praimfaya where there’s Madi.

 

Before Praimfaya she might have made a stubborn plan and stuck to it, risking lives of those that mattered to her because she could ‘see the bigger picture’. After Praimfaya she sits with Madi between her knees a week after she made contact with Marskru for the first time and braids her girl’s hair – which is getting too long, she needs to cut it sometime next week – and thinking of the risks. _Evaluating_ the personal risks.

 

 _‘We could sneak in during the night. We know their shifts, it won’t be difficult,’_ offers Bellamy.

 

‘ _That would be foolish for so many reasons_.’ In her mind Lexa and Bellamy are, maybe not friends, but definitely something along the lines. They’re both smart and sneaky. But Lexa cold-blooded mind usually clashes with Bellamy’s more… impulsive nature.

 

‘ _Don’t see you offering any…’_

_‘That’s because maybe we shouldn’t risk an alliance with over thirty capable_ builders _for a handful of…._ ’

 

 _That’s not happening_ , Clarke cuts the Commander’s train of though in its tracks, because she’s not leaving her people behind.

 

 _‘Maybe you could try by telling the truth,_ ’ Wells’ voice is always the softest. Even when all the others engage in shouting matches that have Clarke wincing in pain, Well’s always there, quiet and resourceful and seeing the best in people. ‘ _They might surprise you.’_

Her father would tell the Marskru the truth. He believed in the goodness of people. For a time _before_ Praimfaya Clarke had lost her ability to believe that. Now…, now enough time has passed for the horrible memories of war and the mountain and the betrayal and ‘there are no good guys’ to fade a little.

 

‘ _Are you willing to risk Madi’s life on a might?_ ’, Clarke isn’t sure if that’s Bellamy or Lexa.

 

‘ _I’d like to meet my granddaughter when the bunker is opened,_ ’ pipes Abby unhelpfully from somewhere in the back of Clarke’s mind.

 

The problem with this is: they’re all right. It’s like one of those tricks Thelonious would perform for her and Wells when they were little: in which he would hide a button in his hands and make you guess where it was. Or when he would throw a coin in the air.

 

Her dad would say: ‘ _all answers are right until it lands._ ’

 

Hypothetically she could sneak into the Marskru ship and free her people and no one would find out and she could maintain her alliance with them.

 

She could tell them the truth and they could decide to let her people out and help unearth the bunker.

 

She could also kill them. But they’re the first people she’s seen in six years and she _really_ doesn’t want that. Zeke is nice if you ignore the arrogant and slightly patronizing way he keeps saying ‘your clan’ like he believes she’s some sort of savage.

 

“Ok” Clarke sighs. Tying a ribbon at the end of the last braid. “You’re all set, kitten” Madi stands up and turns to look at her with her arms crossed across her chest.

 

She juts her chin out defiantly.

 

“I want to go with.”

 

Clarke sighs. “We’ve talked about this. It’s dangerous and I don’t want you near them.”

 

“They haven’t done anything to you. They don’t even follow you back to the cave. How are they dangerous?”

 

“They have guns.”

 

“So do we.”

 

Clarke rubs her calloused hands over her face. “We also don’t really know what they’re doing. I need to find out more about them.”

 

“So ask them. If they’re hostile we just kill them.”

  
“I said no, Madi!”

 

The girls stares murderously at Clarke but the blonde doesn’t back down and, finally, she huffs and turns her back to the older woman, sitting crossly on the lopsided bench in the back of their cave.

 

Clarke feels herself slump a little. It’s not the first time they've argued, of course it isn’t, but every time it hits her like a physical blow and every time it hurts to walk away without erasing the frown off her face.

 

“Madi…” the girl’s shoulders go up to her ears and Clarke is left at a loss for words. Why is this always so hard? She goes over to her and pulls her in for a hug. Madi doesn’t react. She presses a kiss to the top of her hair. She smells like the soap they make out of boar-fat, ash lye and herbs; like candle wax and fire-wood, with a hint of rain just underneath. It’s a smell that reminds her of all the things she’s ever loved.

 

“I’ll be back in a few hours, ok?” silence. “Do your reading in the meantime and you can tell me all about it when I get back.” No answer.

 

With a sigh she presses her forehead against Madi’s head and tickles her sides a little. Madi pushes her hands away with an angry growl. “Stop it.”

 

It breaks her heart a little, that the girl seems to have grown out of it. It seems like just yesterday Clarke could get her out of any funk by tickling her sides, and kissing her belly. “I love you kitten.”

 

Madi doesn’t answer

 

Her eyes fall on the pictures hanging on the wall of their cave: the broad strokes of Madi’s seven-year-old portrait of her family: a collection of ovals with points for eyes and lopsided smiles hanging next to Clarke’s renditions of skaikru.

 

After another second Clarke lets go, stepping out of the cave and feeling like she’s abandoning her. She needs to get going and she’ll see her in just a few hours.

 

 _Did it feel like this when I gave you the cold shoulder?_ , Clarke finds herself asking Abby.

 

She misses her mother, finds herself wondering what her mom would’ve done whenever Madi’s being stubborn or asking too many difficult questions. Over the last few years she’s often wondered if she’s doing good during the small moments. Is she pushing the girl too hard? Should she teach her more? Less?

 

Clarke stumbles on the bush without really noticing, too distracted by half-formed plans, worries about Madi and the future and what is she going to do…

 

She stares at the bush from where she’s landed on her butt and in her mind everyone seems to perk up. This could be a solution.

 

 _‘Or you could tell them the truth_.’ Insists Wells.

 

Clarke pats her pockets, finding a small leather pouch she starts picking the small fat sleep-berries. She discovered them by accident about four years ago. Clarke remembers it like it was yesterday: finding Madi on the floor, her fingers stained red with the juices of the berries and not moving. After the longest few hours of Clarke’s life Madi blinked her eyes open. She was fine and other than a mild headache the berries didn’t have any side effects. Since then Clarke has learned to make them into powerful analgesics.

 

In her mind someone starts to enumerate all the ways this could backfire. Clarke pulls on the string of her pouch and continues walking.

 

The lookouts change daily: today it’s Davids, who is missing an eye; Crooked Tom, Jo-Jo and Tiny Timmy, who is the youngest on their team. Everyone is used to seeing her by now and don’t even bother raising their weapons when they see her. Davids booms “The stray is back!”

 

The camp is always loud: to her it seems like they’re always nearly shouting, their voices echoing around and making the hundred delinquents look like Tree-Caretakers in comparison, it’s very distracting and slightly unnerving.

 

Clarke leaves her rifle on the floor a few feet away from the entrance to their perimeter and walks right in. From across the field Zeke straightens, a huge smile lighting up his face and making her feel slightly guilty for the pouch full of sleep-berries in her pocket.

 

He strides up to her with his overalls tied at the waist and pulling on a washed out T-Shirt that reads ‘Galaxy Chicks World Tour – 2134’, which only helps her remember she has no clue what year they’re actually in. “Good morning, ambassador!” he hugs her and she finds herself clinging to him for what’s probably longer than necessary. He doesn’t seem to mind and when she finally steps back, he leaves his arm around her shoulders, looking at her in a way that makes something coil in her core.

 

It’s hard to miss just how much these people touch each other. Passing brushes, pats on the back, the grabbing of arms, the back of necks, the random person throwing themselves on others like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It makes her wonder how it must have been back on Mars. Are all Martians this tactile?

 

“So, what have you brought for us today?” Zeke smiles broadly at her, his eyes falling down to her cleavage for half a heartbeat before returning to her face, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks. “You said you would see if you could find us some fruit samples?”

 

She pulls the pouch out, opening it for him to see the tiny red fruits inside. “You’ll love these.” He goes to pick one, but Clarke pulls on the string and stashes it away into her jacket, a mischievous smile on her lips as she steps away from beneath his arm. “Ah! Not yet.”

 

Her skin tingles everywhere his arm was in contact with it. Even through the layers of clothes.

 

Zeke grins, one of his incisors is chipped. She wants to run her tongue over the edge of it.

 

After getting her kru out she’s so getting laid, Clarke decides. She doesn’t really care by whom – she _does_ have a preference, but if _that_ doesn’t happen, she’ll come back and just jump on Zeke’s bones. She’s pretty confident he could be persuaded.

 

“Come on, just one.”

 

She stands her ground, her own smile broad on her lips. He throws his hands up in mock defeat. And that, too, is something that required some getting used to: these Martians speak with their hands, gesturing wildly and broadly, like they want the whole universe to see them. “All right. Geez, woman.” He nods towards the ship. “Come on in.”

 

Zeke and his crew have been surprisingly accommodating to her “desire to learn”, teaching her about random pieces of electronic equipment. She’s made it abundantly clear that the screens are the tech that holds the most interest for her and thus always let her wander into the control room either when he comes or when she leaves in the evening.

 

Matthews, who apparently was an architect back on Mars usually mans the control panel, but, when Clarke pushes the door open, the room is empty. The different circumstances why these people decided to make the trip to Earth is still a mystery to her and that is a huge part of why she can’t find it in herself to tell them the whole truth.

 

Her eyes go automatically to Bellamy’s face when she enters the Control Room, and her heart stops in its tracks when she sees him slumped on the cot, eyes closed and unmoving. Even from here she can see the circles under his eyes and how thin he looks: the shirt hanging off his body.

 

“You ok?”

 

She barely hears Zeke through the rush of blood in her ears. She needs to check on Raven, Monty and the others, but tearing her eyes off Bellamy feels like the most difficult thing she’s had to do.

 

Raven’s back is to the camera, as she kneels awkwardly by the cell’s door, screwdriver in hand. Monty, Echo, Emori, and Harper are as unmoving as Bellamy is. Murphy is like he always is, wide awake, tossing his little ball up and down. His too big eyes and nose macabrely large in his gaunt face.

 

“What has happened to them?”

 

“They’re on a hunger strike.” Zeke’s voice is grim when he steps beside her.

 

“Why!” The desperate note in her voice is apparent, but the Sergeant doesn’t comment on it.

 

“They want us to let them out.”

 

She swallows thickly. “For how long?”

 

“Most of them haven’t eaten anything in the last three days. Him”, he points at Bellamy, “him”, Monty, “and her” Echo, “haven’t drunk anything either for the last two days. If they continue like that we’ll have to force-feed them or something.”

 

“Why not just let them out?” she turns to look at him and hopes her look is not as raw as she’s feeling.

 

“I can’t let unauthorized personnel set foot on a quarantined planet. We spend months to get the permits for everyone on this ship. I am waiting for the Federation Council to get back to us and tell us what to do with them.”

 

“But if they’re causing so many problems… Who would know?”

 

He looks at her for a long moment. “We had to inform the Federation Council when we picked them up. They were in a…” he searches for the right words and Clarke wants to tear her hair out in frustration. “In a ship that was breaking down, stranded in space with no way of getting anywhere. We couldn’t leave them there to die.”

 

“So you’ll just lock them up?”

 

“I need this operation to run smoothly, Clarke. Not a hitch my crew depends on it.”

 

Her eyes are pulled like magnets to the screens. She can see the edge of a food tray like the ones she used to get when in solitary just under Raven’s bed. “There are accidents in all operations.”

 

“Not in this one.” Zeke swallows, shakes his head, and runs a broad scar covered hand over his cropped hair. “I haven’t been all that honest with you” he confesses.

 

That snaps her attention away from the screens. Her hand inches closer to the pommel of the knife hidden away in her sleeve.

 

“This is a prisoner transport. All of my crew members are… delinquents tried and convicted. None of them have done anything serious!” he adds in a rush. “They’re petty thieves and tax evaders and whatnot. Drunk drivers. That sort of thing. No murderers in this group,” He adds like it’s supposed to mean something. “They’re here on what you would call _social services_. You understand? If this thing goes well they’ll get a clean slate. That’s why I can’t just…”

 

“We were delinquents, too”, she blurts out much to Wells’ delight and Bellamy’s dismay. ‘ _Want to remember the first peace talks we had, Princess?_ ’

 

‘ _Want to remember your politic strategy, asshole? How was it? Whatever the hell we want?’_

_‘You’re a mean, mean person. We will be having words about this.’_

_‘Not if you starve yourself, we won’t.’_

 

“What do you mean?”

 

She pulls the knife out of her sleeve and is barely aware of Zeke stumbling back, his hand closing around a small thin device at his hip she guesses is some Martian handgun.

 

Clarke leaves the knife by the screen-controls. “You picked them up from a space station. Its name was the Ark. That’s where we come from.” She looks at him, imploring him to listen. “Nearly eight years ago one hundred delinquents between the ages of twelve and eighteen were sent to Earth in a last ditch attempt to save the Ark's population. They’re part of those delinquents. They helped save the human race and had to flee before the second Praimfaya hit. They’ve been stranded in space for six years. If anyone deserves to set foot on this planet it’s them!”

 

“They’re delinquents?” Zeke narrows his eyes. “What sort of…?”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“Yes! Of course it does!”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because we’re trying not to make the mistakes of our forefathers. Earth is supposed to be a new haven for humankind.”

 

Clarke blinks at them. “Are you not listening to me? They saved the bloody species! They’ve made sacrifices you wouldn’t believe!”

 

“And yet our council cannot find any single record of their existence. Or of the existence of any Ark, any space station.”

 

“It’s not like we knew about Martians, either. Of course, there’s nothing on them in your stupid records!”

 

‘ _You’re losing it, Clarke_ ’, warns Lexa’s voice in the back of her mind _, ‘Don’t let your heart dictate your actions_.’

 

She takes a shuddering breath. “This is my land. If you want to stay, you’ll let them go.”

 

He looks tired. “I already told you. I can’t let anything interfere with the mission.”

 

“It’s not like you couldn’t sell the story that they ran away.”

 

“ _Then_ I’d be forced to hunt them down and kill them. We have pretty advanced tech.”

 

“Then blame me! I don’t care!”

 

“Well I do. Because I’d have to hunt you down.”

 

Clarke’s mouth twists in an angry grimace. “You’re welcome to try.”

 

He tries to grab her, but Clarke is quicker, has more experience in hand-to-hand combat and was anticipating it. She has him immobilized and disarmed before you can say Grounder. Her knife resting comfortably on his neck.

 

“Now you listen to me, Zeke, because I really don’t want to hurt you. I’ve spent six years alone on this fucking desolate planet and the only thing that’s kept me more or less sane is the fact that they” she jerks his head around so that he can look at the screens “were coming back for me.”

 

“It’s out of my hands.”

 

She doesn’t scream in frustration. It is a great feat of restraint. Someone should congratulate her. “Why is everyone so fucking stubborn!”

 

“Said the kettle to the pot.”

 

“I’m putting it in your hands again.” She drags him over to the controls. “Open the cells and I won’t kill anyone.”

 

“You wouldn’t kill us.” He’s looking at her through the corner of his eye. Her brain supplies her the sudden – very unnecessary thought – that she’s blowing her chances at getting laid by this man. Clarke promptly tells her brain to go float itself.

 

“Try me.”

 

They measure each other for a moment. It reminds her of her negotiation with Roan two months before Praimfaya. His calculating, cold stare was very similar to Zeke’s, but unlike the King, the Sergeant doesn’t have anything to barter against her.

 

 _‘Desperation makes fools of us all_ ’ whispers Lexa in her infinite wisdom. Clarke tells her to float herself, too.

 

Finally, and clearly unhappy about it all, he starts typing. The cell doors snap open and, before anyone can react, Emori, Murphy and Harper are out of their cells, rushing into Echo’s, Bellamy’s and Monty’s respectively. On the screens Clarke sees Raven hurrying to a control panel by a door down the hall while Emori, Murphy and Harper haul the nearly unconscious skaikru out of their cells.

 

The lights go out.

 

An elbow connects with her trachea and Clarke looses her grip on Zeke. The knife clatters to the floor.

 

The darkness is absolute.

 

She rushes to the door – where she thinks the door should be; her feet loud against the metallic floor.

 

Zeke slams against her back, crushing her against the wall so hard she’s sure she hears her ribs crack. He grabs her head by the short blond hair slamming it hard against the wall.

 

If it weren’t already pitch black, she would probably appreciate how everything goes dark around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting.


	3. Chapter 3

When she comes to the lights have come back online and she’s on the metallic table in the conference room. Her head throbs in their harsh whiteness. Her hands and legs zip tied together in front of her.

 

She twists around to look at the door, which, unsurprisingly, is closed.

 

Clarke allows herself a moment to be berated by the voices in her head: about her rashness and lack of foresight and what is going to happen to Madi and the plan was stupid, to begin with, because it had no real extraction and how was she supposed to drag three unconscious bodies while making sure no one was shooting them in the back?

 

Then she takes a deep breath, twists herself to reach her boot and pulls out the small knife hidden in it – really, these people should stop underestimating her. She makes quick work of the zip-ties binding her and jumps off the table. She knows the door won’t open but tries anyway.

 

Clarke looks around, pacing the length of the room, studying the walls, floor. Over the table, embedded in the ceiling, is the metallic grate of a ventilation shaft.

 

Clarke spent seventeen years on the Ark and, even though she never really ‘rebelled’ like some of her friends did, she _had been_ a teenager. Like every other teen, she learned how to sneak in and out of rooms just like this one.

 

Clarke smirks climbing back onto the table.

 

She’s short but reaches the metal without much trouble. The sharp edges dig painfully into her hands. Clarke has to bite her tongue not to cry out when blood starts welling up in her palms. Finally, the thing gives and she’s able to push it aside.

 

Hauling herself up into the narrow tunnel used to be more difficult back when she was on the Ark and had no upper-body strength to speak of.

 

She didn’t remember the ventilation shafts being this narrow. It is impossible to crawl appropriately, so she has to drag herself with her elbows, shifting her legs behind her and shimmying like a crippled snake. It’s harder than it appears. It doesn’t take long before she’s drenched in sweat.

 

The voice that sounds suspiciously like her mother keeps tsking in the back of her mind.

 

Turning when the ventilation shaft bifurcates is even more awkward, but after a few more feet she comes across a new grate.

 

Clarke spies through the grid: the room beneath her seems empty but for a few shelves and some cleaning supplies. Maneuvering herself down is even more complicated now that she doesn’t have the convenient bed of a friend to break her fall. The blonde falls on her shoulder, causing quite a ruckus. But fortunately, nobody comes rushing to restrain her and throw her into a cell.

 

Carefully she picks herself from the floor, stepping gingerly out of the bucket and putting the mops back against the wall. Creeping to the door feels sort of pointless with her noisy entrance and all, but she does it anyway.

 

The hall behind the door seems empty. It’s also unfamiliar, which isn’t surprising considering she’s only been to the Control center and the conference room.

 

It’s only a matter of time before they find her, but she isn’t about to stay put. Bellamy and the others are somewhere on this ship. Clarke needs to get them out and then get Madi. So she takes off, choosing a direction and then sticking to it, wandering through one long straight corridor after another. It feels like walking around on the Ark, which is something she hadn’t thought she’d ever feel again.

 

In comparison with the ground, the Ark may have sucked, but her body still remembers the feeling, her mind supplies her with random information she had never previously registered: “that’s the way down to engines,” “through there should be a cargo bay.” Whoever designed this thing was very familiar with her spaceship and decided to put all the same landmarks in it. Which is probably one of the reasons why it’s so easy for her to locate all the cameras and their different blind spots. “Every camera has one” he remembers Glass telling her, when they were both fourteen and sneaking around. Glass and her never really had a real reason to do that, other than to be contrary, to feel like those rebels in the vids that weren’t authorized but were often played on the lower station’s rec rooms.

 

Clarke turns one last corner and reaches the big entrance hall. The hatch doors remain open, which means she can see the camp outside. Beyond the walls of the space ship she can see part of darkened lands the Marskru have claimed for themselves and her heart squeezes painfully in her chest:

 

The sky is pitch black outside. Madi must be worried sick!

 

She creeps forward, staying to the shadows of the walls. On the ground they’ve set up big lamps to illuminate their perimeter with their harsh white light. Most of the people seem to be sitting around in tiny clusters. Most of them seem to be carrying guns now. They’ve arranged themselves loosely around six people, tied together and sitting on the floor.

 

Clarke’s fingers itch for her rifle. But she’s outnumbered and outgunned and it’s not only her life on the line. She can’t risk it. She needs to get back to Madi, make sure she’s ok.

 

The young woman locates ZeLuke sitting on a foldout chair, her rifle across his knees, casually pointed at the head of the nearest skaikru and eyes intent on his spaceship.

 

There’s no way of sneaking out through here, not when he’s looking and they’ve pointed two of their lamps directly at the spaceship door.

 

In the distance someone screams.

 

They’re waiting for her. Have been waiting for her for god knows how long. She feels sick, her hands shaking because how can it be less than two weeks since she’s seen another human being and she’s already facing impossible choices.

 

‘ _Only choice, oxymoron_ ’ chuckles Bellamy in her ear and her smile turns into a grimace. Only he could try and crack a joke when her heart is stuttering in her chest. When the muzzle of her own gun is loosely pointed at his head and her whole world has grinded to a halt. Clarke isn’t even sure _that’s_ how Bellamy sounds anymore. He’s sitting just a few dozen feet away, but she still can’t go to him.

 

A commotion near the makeshift fence around their perimeter catches her attention and if she thought her world had stopped before, now it shatters. Two of Zeke’s men are returning from beyond their territory, dragging a small, writhing, screaming body between them.

 

No. No, no.

 

Blood rushes to her feet when they pass under one of the white lights.

 

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!

 

It’s Davids and Crooked Tom. Davids, who always smiles and cracks stupid jokes. Crooked Tom, who offers her his protein bars because she ‘should have more meat on those wee bones.’

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!

 

Clarke nearly doesn’t recognize them with their grim expressions. She doesn’t recognize them as this threat that has plucked Madi from her bed and dragged her, tied, scared but still fighting to the rest of their captives.

 

They drop her unceremoniously between Raven and Echo, stepping quickly away when she rights herself, throwing herself at them, a guttural cry wrenched from deep in her throat. The two women stop her.

 

“Why the fuck have you gagged her?” Zeke sounds atonal and nothing at all like the friend he was just this morning.

 

“She kept biting.”

 

Raven pulls the gag out of Madi’s mouth and the young girl starts spitting insults in trig.

 

Nobody tries to gag her again, and the two women manage to keep her sitting between them.

 

“Still no sign of her?” asks Davids ignoring Madi’s angry threats.

 

“ _WANHEDA IS GOING TO KILL YOU ALL!_ ” roars the girl.

 

“Not yet.”

 

He turns more fully to the spaceship, but it’s not Zeke, Clarke sees. It’s Emerson, looming over her with his knife pressed to Octavia’s throat. Emerson dragging his blade loosely over Bellamy’s trachea and making her beg for her people before pushing the button for the airlock. It’s Emerson looming over her, slamming her against the glass, forcing her to watch Raven’s tearstained face fall forward.

 

Clarke can feel the heat of his body, smell the sweat and the paint and the arousal and the hatred. She feels sick, can’t move, paralyzed by the grinning face staring up at her: blood falling from his eyes and his nose and his mouth. He’s laughing a shrill, deranged sound that chills her to the bone and she can only watch as her people suffocate. Her eyes fixed on Bellamy’, hanging from his wrists, eyes still open and dead. But it’s not Bellamy, because Emerson wants revenge for his son being killed and so it’s Madi, unconscious and dying and she can’t move. Emerson will take everything from her with his grinning skull and…

 

Madi! Madi! Madi!

 

 _‘Snap out of it_!’

 

Clarke jerks away from the wall like it has burned her. Down on the clearing people are screaming and the blonde is suddenly painfully aware that something has happened and she somehow has missed it.

 

Her kru is all clamoring; even Marskru seems appalled. Clarke sees Raven and Echo trying to push Madi away. Bellamy is on his knees, eyes pleading on… Crooked Tom, is holding a small gun - Madi’s handgun- to her baby’s temple.

 

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY DAUGHTER!!”

 

Clarke steps out of the shadows, the handgun she wore concealed between her shoulder blades in her hands, aimed at Crooked Tom’s head.

 

The silence’s deafening.

 

“Told you that’d flush her out” growls Crooked Tom.

 

“Clarke…” Zeke shifts closer, but she doesn’t really see him She can only see that man holding a gun to her Madi, her pale face, splattered with black blood like ink, her big scared eyes and trembling lip, all the fight drained of her.

 

“Step away from her.”

 

“Drop your weapon, Ambassador” growls the man.

 

“That’s enough, Tomas. Clarke…”

 

“I’m going to skin you alive.” Clarke takes another step forward, anger and fear and hatred like she hasn’t felt in her life coursing through her veins in a braided stream.

 

“Can you make the shot before I do?”

 

There are ways out of this. Gambles she can make. Clarke vaguely remembers making this shot before. She knows there have been times where everything seemed against her.

 

But the stakes where never this high.

 

Her brain is silent and all she can hear is Madi’s shuddering breath and the pounding of her heart.

 

She can’t make this shot. She can’t risk Crooked Tom squeezing the trigger. Clarke wishes she could tell Bellamy she understands why he gave himself over to Emerson, now. She can only hope he understands and forgives her.

 

Slowly Clarke raises her gun pulls the clip out of it. Raising her hands to show them empty when she drops the gun to the floor.

 

“Please.”

Someone disarms Crooked Tom and unties Madi’s legs. The girl kicks whoever that was in the face and then runs to Clarke’s side.

 

The blonde pushes her behind her back. Her heart’s still beating madly in her temple, but at least she can _think_ now that the familiar warm body of her little _natblida_ ’s pressed to her back.

 

Half the guns in the camp are trained on her now. Clarke can live with that. As long as they’re on her they’re not on her people. She turns her attention to Zeke, standing grimly next to Bellamy.

 

“Let them go.”

 

How her voice can come so steady when she’s feeling so raw is beyond her.

 

“You know I can’t do that.” He looks tired.

 

“I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll speak to your council or whatever, just…” she’s at a loss. How was she able to do this six years ago?

 

Zeke studies her. ‘ _That’s good’_ whispers a voice in her head ‘ _he’s vulnerable now._ ’ That’s Wanheda’s voice, the same that could see right through Lexa’s bullshit ‘feelings are weakness’ and through President Wallace’s carefully paint-covered fingers.

 

Clarke takes a careful step towards him.

 

She knows this man. They’ve flirted and joked. He’s learned to trust her, has let his guard down. Now it’s only a matter of making him remember that it’s just little old her.

 

She looks up at him. Somehow he’s standing a lot closer than she had anticipated, but this is good. Closeness is good.

 

‘ _Right until he sticks a knife into your belly’_ , grumbles the always slightly paranoid and overprotective voice of Bellamy.

 

‘ _If you’re not going to be helpful, shut up.’_

“They know the ground. Raven” she nods to her friend with her chin “is the smartest person on the planet, also a mechanic who can repair everything. She prepped a hundred-year-old dropship in under a fortnight, made sure their space ship was ready to launch in forty-five minutes instead of six hours. Monty learned how to grow weed in an algae farm. When he first came down to earth, he managed to build a greenhouse that would grow us food in a fraction of the time” she doesn’t add they didn’t have enough time to see if it had worked. “Harper’s the best tracker this side of the Wastelands” not that the Wasteland is a reliable landmark anymore, but Clarke can’t shake the expression. Roan used to say that a lot. “Which you will need if you’re going to hunt for food at some point. Murphy’s resourcefulness beyond believe.”

 

“And I am sure the other three are exceptional in their own right.” Zeke’s voice is dripping with sarcasm, his arms crossed across his chest. Clarke tramples the urge to snap at him, choosing to stare up at him with pleading eyes. Wells never could quite resist the pleading eyes. Neither could Lexa. “Why should I believe any of that?”

 

“We’ve both lied.”

 

“You put a knife to my throat.”

 

“I’m sorry. I never should’ve done that.” She swallows and turns her head down to the floor. “Seeing them unconscious, I… I panicked.”

 

 _Please believe me_.

 

Zeke sighs., his shoulders sagging a little A deep and tired sound. “Let’s say I let you all go. Who’s to say you’re not going to bolt?”

 

“I give you my word.”

 

“Right now that means very little to me, Clarke.”

 

“I know. But let me make it up to you.” His eyes dart down to her lips and back up. Clarke feels the thrill of victory starting to uncoil in her belly. She lays her hand on his right forearm crossed over his chest. “I’ll talk to your council, take full responsibility for them, just…” Clarke’s eyes waver from Zeke’s face on their own accord, and land on Bellamy. Which is a mistake. He’s watching them intently, leaning forward like he wants to sprint to them, his body vibrating with barely contained tension. Looking back at Zeke is one of the hardest things she’s had to do in a long time. “Please, let them go.”

 

_Please, please, please._

Zeke stares at her for the longest minute in her life and then barks: “Ease up, boys and girls! Janny, lose the ties!”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You’re staying here.”

 

Clarke nods. Yes, that makes sense; she can live with that. The blonde turns to Madi.

 

The girl hugs her, shaking from head to toe and Clarke allows herself a moment to relish in the feeling of her arms around her, her damp face pressed against her chest. When she pries Madi’s arms loose the young natblida whimpers a little, but eventually lets go.

 

“ _Are you ok?_ ” Clarke asks in trig.

 

“ _Yes. I… I’m so sorry! You weren’t coming back and I got scared and left the cave to look for you and they captured me and… I couldn’t shoot. I couldn’t, I was too scared and I couldn’t pull the trigger. It should have been like the panther, but it wasn’t, I remembered the stories of the warriors, and what you had told me about them and I didn’t_ want _to kill them. I am so sorry, mom, I…._ ”

 

Clarke hugs her again, crushing her against her body like that can somehow make the whole ordeal not have happened. Like she can somehow protect her from the hard times that are about to come. “ _Shh…. You did well, kitten. I am so proud of you._ ”

 

Madi sobs.

 

“ _I need you to be brave for me_ ” Clarke kisses the top of her head. “ _Can you do that for me?”_

 

Madi’s eyes are huge and round and even though Clarke knows she’s scared, she puts on a brave face for the blonde and nods her head. “ _I need you to take skaikru to the cave. Load up the rover. If I haven’t gone back in two days you need to take them to the island._ ”

 

“ _But…”_

 

“ _No buts_.” It breaks her heart that Madi doesn’t smirk knowingly at the word. How much of her childhood is this situation going to chip away from her little night-blood? How quickly will she be forced to grow up from now on? “ _Bellamy will take care of you. And they’re all our people. I have told you about them a thousand times. You know them already._ ”

 

She sniffs, rubbing her nose with the back of her sleeve and Clarke can’t find it in herself to chastise her for it. Not when this could all go wrong and this could be the last time she sees her. “ _I need you to promise me, you won’t let any of them come back._ ”

 

 _Especially Bellamy_ , _he’ll try something reckless and stupid,_ she doesn’t say.

 

“ _I will.”_

 

Clarke smiles and kisses the top of her head again, hugging her one last time, breathing her smell in, relishing in the feeling of her thin arms around her waist. Finally, she forces herself to let go. “ _I love you, Madi, never forget that.”_

 

She can’t look at skaikru in the eye when she meets them at the fence. Her hands are sweaty when she puts her rifle into Madi’s hands and pushes her gently towards her people.

 

Blood rushes in her ears, making it difficult to even hear Raven’s words.

 

“I’ll… She’ll take you back to the cave.” Her eyes dart over the tired faces of skaikru. It takes all her self-control to raise her head enough to look at Bellamy’s face and the words taste like ash and Mount Weather in her mouth.

 

“Take care of her for me.” He opens his mouth to answer, but she shakes her head no. She needs to say something else, but her brain is empty. She wants to hug them and tell them how much she’s missed them. Him. But…

 

Seven years ago she hugged him and nearly changed her mind. Clarke knows if she lets him say anything, she won’t be able to turn away.

 

She’s a selfish coward. “Go now, before they change their minds.”

 

“Clarke…”

 

Clarke turns around and walks back to the ship. Their voices haunting her all the way up the ramp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you remember when this was a two-shot..... yeah, me either. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting.


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all you lovely folks for reading and commenting ^^ Your support keeps me at the keyboard :D

After seven and a half hours, Clarke sits back feeling drained and exhausted, her eyes burn and the muscles in her back ache. When she stretches her arms behind her, the articulations pop loudly in the now silent room.

 

Beside her, Zeke shudders. “Those are the most powerful people on the planet. And you talked them down like they were children.”

 

Clarke smiles tiredly at him, rolling her head left and right to get rid of the kink.

 

“I’ve met more powerful.”

 

The blonde stands up, shaking her legs to get the stiffness out of them. Even her butt hurts after sitting for so long on the uncomfortable chair.

 

“Will they stick to what we’ve agreed?”

 

ZekLuke nods his head. “Yes. I think so.”

  
“Ok” she wanders out of the room and the spaceship. The sun is rising in the distance and she feels truly drained.

 

“You can stay here if you want.” Zeke flushes and looks away. “I can arrange you a bed and…”

 

“Thank you. But I better get back home. Madi must be worried.”

 

His shoulders sag a little. “Yes, of course.” For a moment they stand in silence, side by side, watching the sunrise.

 

“I am going to sleep for a fortnight” she sighs and he laughs.

 

“Yeah, I could use some sleep myself.”

 

“When my people are settled, I’ll be back.”

 

He’s already looking at her when she turns to him. His smile is sad and tired. “We can start digging your bunker out then.”

 

“And prepping the ground to start growing crops.”

 

They shake hands, which feels stiff and a bit awkward until Zeke pulls her in for a brief hug. “We’re still friends, right?”

 

“Can we still be friends after that?” Clarke asks against his neck.

 

“Of course we can! You put a knife to my throat; I slammed you into a wall. All perfectly normal friend stuff.”

 

Clarke laughs stepping back. “Then yes. I guess we’re still friends.”

 

“Cool.” His smile is a little wider now. “You good or want me to walk you home?”

 

“I’m good.”

 

“Take care. I’d say call me when you get there, but you don’t have phones on this dump, so...”

 

Clarke laughs and it feels possible, that after today she can still trust and stay in contact with her new friends. It’s thrilling and heartwarming in a way she hasn’t felt in years.

 

The trek back home is longer than usual, because she keeps stumbling over rocks and branches. She’s cold and hungry and tired and everything aches and she wants to sleep and not worry about anything for a long, long time.

 

When she finally sees the cave, her feet get stuck on the ground, and she can’t continue. At the mouth of the cave sits the rover, effectively blocking most of the entrance: making a direct attack into the cave nearly impossible, since any enemy should squeeze single-file through the tiny opening between the vehicle and the wall. It makes it also impossible to spy the interior.

 

Clarke has to smile: she’s taught Madi well. It’s always a relief when her little girl shows just how well she can take care of herself. A relief and slightly terrifying.

 

No sound comes from inside the cave, which can mean a number of things, that they’re all asleep, tired after the events of the day before, for example.

 

It takes her a moment to see Bellamy, sitting on a moss-covered boulder, dark eyes intent on the forest, a rifle – her rifle – lying beside him on the grass.

 

He’s older than he was six years ago, his hair disheveled and stubble on his cheeks. And she saw him yesterday, but now… now she can appreciate the paleness of his skin and the gauntness of his cheeks after six years of artificial light and too little food. But still, his eyes shine with the same light they did all those years ago. The line of his mouth and the slight tick of the muscles in his jaw are the same. She would recognize the curve of those shoulders everywhere. Know those broad hands. Always.

 

Clarke wants to run to him. Wants to bury herself in his smell and feel those strong arms keeping her together like they did for so long ago. She wants to hear his voice, hear him saying her name, not with that pleading desperate note of yesterday but with the same kindness, the same fondness of six years ago. She wants to believe he still knows her like he did.

 

She wants to run to him yet doubts root her to the ground. Does he still know her? They knew each other for a year. Less even, because she turned her back on him, and left him, abandoned him because she was a girl, scared, sad, unable to protect anyone. Doing the exact opposite, really. And now six years have passed and they don’t even know each other anymore.

 

When his eyes land on her they’re the same: warm and kind and so full of tenderness and kindness and how can he still look like he did?

 

“Clarke?”

 

His voice’s the same, the way he jumps to his feet and takes a few steps forward before he can catch himself and stops and stares at her with those big brown eyes, is the same, too.

 

Clarke wants to be witty. Wants to say something like “last time I checked” or “yep still me”, or maybe something along the lines of “you’re late”. But the time for first words has passed, hasn’t it? She had her line and used it to push him away, to make sure he and Madi and the rest of her kru were safe.

 

“I should have explained, but I didn’t know if they were going to change their mind and we were outnumbered and outgunned and…”

 

Bellamy crashes against her like a tidal wave, his arms strong and hard and real like they were all those years ago, she can feel the warmth of one of his hands splayed on her back. The other tangles itself in her hair and it’s so big it can comfortably cup her cheek and curl around the back of her neck.

 

Her arms close in a viselike embrace around his ribs, her fingers clawing at his back pressing him harder against her. And she presses her nose into the crook where his neck meets his shoulder. He smells like engine oil and metal and that soft undertone of something that’s just Bellamy.

 

 

Clarke turns her face to kiss his cheek, to feel the stubble against her lips, but he turns at the same time and meets his lips instead.

 

Six years ago kissing Bellamy Blake felt like it must have been a Big Deal. Something everyone wanted to do because who in their right mind _wouldn’t_? It was something she sometimes allowed herself to fantasize about, knowing it would never happen because she wasn’t good enough for him. He deserved so much more than whatever she could give him.

 

Now it feels like a breath of fresh air. It feels like coming home. He’s warm and soft and hard and this tiny bit commanding and a bit playful when he brushes his tongue over her lips.

 

Clarke deepens the kiss while her mind races around her and her body vibrates. It’s been six years since she last kissed anyone, she never kissed Bellamy, but still, her mouth and her body seem to know what they’re doing. So, while her mind panics, she lets her mouth and hands do whatever they want, relishing on the tight grip against the side of her head, on the warmth of his fingers against her skin, of the safety of his arms around her.

 

“YES, THEY’RE TOTALLY MAKING OUT! PAY UP, REYES!”

 

Murphy’s voice startles her nearly out of her skin. Bellamy groans, letting his head fall against her shoulder.

 

When she opens her eyes she can see Murphy standing smugly behind Bellamy, arms crossed across his chest and a half smile on his lips. “Glad to see you didn’t die,” he offers. “You can be a cockroach person, too.”

 

“Shut up, Murphy” Raven pushes him out of the way, hurrying out of the cave as quickly as her braced leg allows her, closely followed by Echo of all people. Monty and Harper quick on their heels.

 

And suddenly Clarke finds herself surrounded again by her friends, her kru, her family. It doesn’t matter that they haven’t seen each other in years, it doesn’t matter that they don’t share blood, that she doesn’t know Emori and Echo all that well. This is where she wants to be, where she’s longed to be for six years, and when Madi joins them, Clarke feels completely at peace.

 

Now… now she’s truly complete.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Tumblr post by @xxfangirlandproudxx 
> 
> "Bellamy, Raven, Monty, Harper, echo, Murphy and Emori and prisoners in the space prison thingy and Clarke and Madi break them out"
> 
> As always this was unbetad. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting.


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